Falling for a Lion or for a Stag?
by lowi
Summary: Rabastan was pressed up against the wall, and there was a murderous look on Potter's face. Who would've thought... /M&MWP /for Morghen!


_A/N: This is my extremely belated Christmas present for __Morghen__, who is a dear friend of mine, and whom I once promised to write a JamesRabastan. Well, here it finally is, I hope you'll like it!_

_JamesRabastan is also a M&MWP. In this I've been fooling around with the characters' ages a bit, so I suppose it should be called AU._

_Finally, many thanks to __mew-tsubaki__ for her brilliant beta work!_

* * *

**Falling for a Lion or for a Stag?**

It all happened so quickly, one thing leading to another, one glance cast without thinking, one misjudged movement, and then Rabastan found himself pushed up against the wall, a wand under his chin, a hand clutching his face, fingers digging into his cheeks and a knee pressed against him so that he couldn't move.

"I should have known it was you, Lestrange." Potter glared at him, and Rabastan wondered absentmindedly how it was possible for the seventh year to have so many different faces and expressions.

"If you and your people ever dare to touch Peter again, I'll not just point my wand at your throat, I'll actually use it. You hear me?"

Rabastan smirked. "Use it? How—poke me, Potter?"

Potter leaned closer, for a second burning with rage but the next collecting himself and whispering sweetly, "You know I can do worse than poke you, Lestrange."

"Oh, really," Rabastan began, but he found it harder to speak as Potter's fingers dug more and more into his cheeks.

"Oh, _yes_," he answered, and he locked eyes with Rabastan.

Rabastan tried to respond, but he managed only to grunt.

Potter's eyes were narrowed, and he had a slightly insane grin on his lips and their eyes were not letting each other's go. Suddenly Black burst into the classroom into which Rabastan had been shoved after class, completely taken off-guard.

"James, James, c'mon, let him go," he half-whispered, but Potter didn't seem to hear him. "Really, McGonagall is on her way." Black rolled his eyes when he still didn't get a reaction from Potter, and he walked up to the two of them, grabbed Potter around his shoulders, and pulled him off Rabastan.

"What, Sirius?" Potter asked confusedly while Rabastan leaned his head against the wall and massaged his cheeks.

"Yeah, we need to go, _now_, Prongs." Black grabbed Potter's sleeve and began pulling him with him, but he hesitated by the door and turned to Rabastan. "And you don't say a word about this, to anyone, or we'll tell someone about what you did to Peter."

Rabastan didn't answer, and Potter looked at Black. "Pads, what if…"

"Let's go, _now_, James," Black interrupted, and he hurried out of the door.

Rabastan grinned to himself when Potter suddenly turned around and stared at him. It looked as though he was about to say something before he hurried out, too.

Rabastan chewed on his lip as he walked out of the classroom. He could see the two tall figures of the Gryffindors disappearing behind a corner, and it was something that nagged on his mind…a little something that didn't make sense.

Why wouldn't the pair of Gryffindor stuck-up prats go whine to the professors as they usually did when it came to things like this? Rabastan shoved his hands deep into his pockets and began walking back to his common room.

So much to think about.

But when Rabastan entered the common room and found his brother busy shoving his tongue down one of the Black sisters' throat, he suddenly forgot all about it.

"Rod, hey!" He pulled at Rodolphus' hem, which caused his brother to lift his attention from the blonde girl with eyes that shifted from surprise to anger.

"What?" he snapped, not letting go of Rabastan's classmate's hand.

"What do you think you're doing?" Rabastan asked with raised eyebrows. It was funny, though, the way it always seemed to be him holding his brother in check, looking after him, even though he was the younger one.

"Just a little bit fun." Rod rolled his eyes but pulled Black to him and whispered something in her ear that made her cheeks redden, and she walked off after giving him a small kiss.

"She's Bella's sister, Rod. You can't keep doing that—her dad, or ours, for that sake, will kill you."

Rodolphus laughed and put an arm around Rabastan's shoulder, pulling him with him to a sofa. "Rab, don't worry about me."

"Because you're doing so well without me," Rabastan answered tiredly. It was a well-known fact that he was the more sensible of the Lestrange brothers, the one who would have to pull his brother out of every fight, every trouble in sight. Rabastan couldn't even count how many times Rod's eyes had been filled with rage and he had had to push him away from hurting the person that somehow had caused the elder Lestrange brother to get a murderous expression on his face, hands twisting at his side.

"It's not as though anyone will notice, and besides it doesn't mean anything." Rodolphus laughed and put his feet on the table in front of them.

"Come on, _of course_, someone will notice it. And who says Narcissa won't tell Bella?"

"What do you mean?" Rodolphus narrowed his eyes.

"I know Narcissa; we're in the same year. She's manipulative, Rod. Maybe she's just doing this because she wants to get back at Bella for something."

Rodolphus took his feet off the table and looked down at his hands. Then he rose and glared at Rabastan. "Fuck off," he spat. "You're just jealous." He shoved Rabastan down on the sofa with a quick, burning movement and stormed off, out of the common room.

Rabastan stayed where he now half-laid and groaned. What was wrong with his brother? He closed his eyes and let his thoughts wander, the crackling noises from the fire luring him to fall asleep.

But there was something that struck him in the same moment as someone threw a pillow at his head. He rose, not wanting to let the thought slip away as there was something…_important_ about it.

"Sod off, Avery," he mumbled when he saw that it was one of his brother's friends who had thrown the pillow at him.

Avery grinned to him with raised eyebrows. "What's with you Lestranges tonight? You're all grumpy and boring. Rod practically shoved me in to the wall when I asked him what was the matter."

"Never mind, okay?" Rabastan said, and he rose to go to his dormitory. Normally he didn't mind Avery's company; he was easygoing and always fun to talk to, thanks to his many outlandish ideas and whims. But tonight, he had to _think_, for Merlin's sake!

It was empty in the dormitory, thankfully, and Rabastan lay down on the bed with his hands beneath his neck. Ah, much better. Quiet, dark, peaceful. So, what was that he had come up with just before Avery had interrupted?

That's right. The way Rodolphus had seemed to let his shoulders slump when he walked away from him, the way something in his eyes turned from mocking to defeated. But, no, that couldn't be it, could it? Was he in love with Narcissa, _for real_?

Rabastan felt like laughing. That was just so like his brother, wasn't it? To become tangled in lies and holding up façades, and never ever truly showing what he felt to anyone (but Rabastan) and therefore always ending up hurt.

_Ah, young love_, Rabastan thought, and he grinned as he closed his eyes. As if he ever was going to be Rod's _younger_ brother, seriously.

Suddenly another stray thought hit him. The way Rod's eyes had looked when he had turned away from him had been very similar to those Potter had been wearing when Black had pulled him away earlier.

Was Potter also in love…? Hang on, of course he was, Rabastan thought with a frown. It was common knowledge that he pined after that Mudblood Evans, so he shouldn't be surprised…

Or should he? Evans hadn't been the issue earlier; she hadn't even been mentioned. And yet, Potter had been looking completely out of place, and Sirius had been acting very protective of him. A little like to how Rabastan himself had acted around Rod, to be honest.

So, who was—Rabastan realized the answer and laughed for real this time. No way.

Well, now Rabastan was going to have some fun; that was just it.

He slipped out of his bed and dashed out of the common room before someone even had the chance to yell that it was long after curfew. Well, there was only one person in Slytherin who would have done so, one of the prefects that always, for some unknown reason, liked to follow the rules.

Out in the corridor it was as empty as usual, and Rabastan hurried up a shortcut to the Gryffindor common room's entry. He knew perfectly well where it was, thanks to bribing a third year into telling him when he himself was no more than a second year and had an unexplainable interest in sneaking around and pretending to be a spy. The bribe was the promise of not letting anyone know what she had done in the greenhouses…argh, he was still scarred by that. Why did he have to think of it now?

He shuddered and arrived by the portrait that guarded their common room. So, what to do now? He hadn't really had time to formulate a plan, so now he just stood there, glaring at the portrayed lady.

"You're a Slytherin," she said shortly.

"I am, indeed," Rabastan answered with a sly grin. "Can I enter?" Hell, why not try?

"No." Okay, it didn't work.

"Why?"

"Do you know the password?" Her eyes were almost closed, that was how much of a superior look she had on her face.

"Oh, so you're saying that if I knew the password I'd be allowed to enter?" Rabastan asked innocently.

The lady narrowed her eyes, which had opened in surprise. "I—" she began but then the portrait hole swung open and revealed a bunch of tiny first years, who all let out a shriek when they saw him and then giggled.

"Girls, would you do me a favour and fetch Potter?" Rabastan smiled at them and pumped his fist mentally.

One of the girls stepped forward while the others gasped and tried to pull her back into the small huddle they had formed, as though they were afraid of standing alone. She put her hands on her hips. "Why?"

"Because I just want to talk to him a little." Rabastan smiled sweetly.

The girl formed a little pout with her mouth and then shrugged. "Okay, I'll get him. Wait here," she continued, turning to her friends. They widened their eyes in horror and hurried to explain that they were coming with her. Then they all disappeared back into the portrait hole and the lady was back, staring at him.

"Are all of them that annoying?" Rabastan asked her, indicating the girls she had let in.

She frowned. "Annoying? Who says they're annoying?"

"I do. I mean, seriously. They are small, giggling, jumpy, simply said…in the way," Rabastan continued, leaning against the wall opposing her.

The lady opened her mouth, but then she swung away again and revealed the girls, all dragging some part of James—his hands, his knees, his shirt hem, his trousers.

"Here he is," they said in chorus to Rabastan, and then they flew away like a little flock of birds.

Rabastan waved at them with a smirk on his lips and the only one who answered it was the girl who had spoken to him, and she did so by holding her middle finger up.

Rabastan furrowed his brow. Okay…? "What's up with your first years, Potter?" he asked, and he looked up just in time to watch the older student's cheeks turn red.

"Lestrange?" he asked, clearly wanting to draw the attention away from his flustered appearance.

"That'd be me, yes." Rabastan answered, and he smiled brightly.

"I thought…hell, what are you even thinking about?" Potter spluttered. "Last time we met, I tried to strangle you."

"Yes," Rabastan answered with a nod, when suddenly his eyes met the painted lady's curious ones. "How about going somewhere more _private_?" he asked, and he watched contently how Potter's cheeks turned even redder when he leaned forward to emphasize the last word. Great, he was at least correct in his assumptions.

Potter widened his eyes and then nodded when the lady cleared her throat, either wanting them not to do something they would regret later with her as witness or just because she couldn't hear what they said…

Rabastan grinned and began walking away with long strides, knowing perfectly well that Potter would follow him. He would of course want to know why he had sought him, and he wouldn't let him go without an explanation. Ah, those Gryffindors—always so recklessly throwing themselves in to things they shouldn't have…

Rabastan couldn't suppress his grin when they walked down the corridor and entered an abandoned classroom. Huh, who would've thought toying with older guys' feelings was this fun? He turned around to face Potter, who stared at him with that expression of someone just waking up.

"Lestrange, what are you playing at?" Potter's eyebrows were furrowed and he had taken no more than three steps into the room.

Rabastan gave him a sweet smile and walked around him, slowly closing the door behind them. Then he stayed there, behind Potter, and walked up so close to him that he could breathe on his neck. And, damn, Potter really did shudder. "I'm not _playing_, Potter. But if you want me to, I could," he whispered, and he made sure to let his breath come out heavily.

Potter turned around so fast, Rabastan actually jolted a bit. There was something in his eyes, a coldness that hadn't been there before—a hardness. "What the fuck are you doing then, Lestrange?" he spat.

Rabastan smiled. Because no matter how hard Potter's eyes were, he had still goose bumps on his naked arms. He put his hands on them, softly, but then gripped them tightly and pulled Potter close to him and kissed him. He could see the Gryffindor's eyes widen, and he sensed him squirming to get away, but he didn't let him.

He forced his tongue into his mouth, and suddenly Potter stopped fighting against him. The seventh year closed his eyes, and Rabastan knew he had won; Potter had given in completely now. And he had been right, of course. Their mouths kept moving across each other's, and it was the sweetest of feelings knowing that he had Potter, the role model of the school, wrapped around his finger.

Or rather, wrapped around his body. But it was almost the same, wasn't it?

Suddenly Rabastan felt his body slammed into something, but he couldn't for his life open his eyes, which he hadn't even noticed had closed, but when he dropped his left hand from Potter's arm, he could feel that he was pressed up against the wall.

It was just going so fast. Potter was still busy wrestling with his tongue (well, Rabastan was just as much wrestling with Potter's) and the Gryffindor's now free hand was busy searching its way under Rabastan's shirt. Suddenly Rabastan had forgotten the reason for being there; all he could think of was how Potter's lips were so hard against his, so burning and so hot.

He lifted the hand which had been leaning against the wall and grabbed hold of the collar on Potter's shirt, wanting him to be even closer. There was nothing on his mind right now, except the feelings of their bodies pressed against each other, the pulse that beat in his ears, and Potter's fingers wandering across his chest.

It was not what he had expected, and it was heavenly.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck," he repeated, and he pulled his lips off Potter's neck. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He let go of everything and pushed himself out of Potter's firm grip of him. He hunched under Potter's outstretched arm which rested against the wall to the left him, and he saw Potter turning with a smile.

Rabastan swallowed and began walking to the door as fast as possible. He wanted nothing but to get out of there, to leave, to be able to think clearly again. But the sound of Potter's voice made him hesitate by the door and turn around.

Because it had been a long time since he had heard Potter sound so smug, and he had most certainly not ever heard him sound so smug when talking to _him_. "Lestrange, don't try anything now. You wanted that just as bad as I did and, if I was you, I would keep my mouth shut." His eyebrows were raised, his cheeks rosy, and his eyes glinting so much that Rabastan thought they looked like stars.

He didn't know what to answer, so he turned around and walked out with quick steps. And, by the sound of it, Potter was laughing his arse off in there.

Merlin. What had he done? What had just _happened_? Rabastan groaned as he hurried down the stairs, and he noticed several of the portraits giving him odd looks, but he couldn't care less; he had to get back to the common room, be left alone so that he could be able to think again.

He entered the common room and found it not empty at all, as he had hoped. And, apparently he wouldn't be able to walk through it unnoticed, either.

"Oi, Rab!" Someone to the left of him yelled at him, and Rabastan turned around slowly. It was Lucius, another of Rodolphus' classmates. "Oh, you've been having fun, haven't you?" Lucius continued, pointing at Rabastan's torso with a smirk.

Rabastan looked down and found his shirt unbuttoned, and he realized what it might look as though he had been doing. And it also made him realize the reason why the portraits had been looking so curiously at him. Damn, if they weren't a bunch of sneaky interrupters… But, really, he _had_ been doing that, so what else should he expect? And now he blushed, too, damn it.

Lucius laughed together with those with whom he was sitting. "Who's the lucky girl, eh, Rabastan?" he asked with a crooked smile and waggling eyebrows.

"…no one you know," Rabastan mumbled. "I have to go."

Lucius pouted at him but with laughter in his eyes. "And I wanted to know…well, sweet dreams, Rabastan. They really _should_ be sweet, if you know what I mean," he finished, looking at his friends who now were howling with laughter.

Rabastan, though, didn't see the humor. Or maybe he was just too busy thinking of other things to really listen to what the blonde and supposedly hilarious seventh year was talking about.

_Oh, he is in Potter's year_, Rabastan suddenly thought as he walked into his dormitory. It was still empty there; it was really nice not having to share with someone but three others. Three others who hardly were ever there, to be honest.

He sat down on his bed and began buttoning his shirt. Then he realized that he might as well go to sleep, so he began unbuttoning it again. His fingers shivered as he tried to get the buttons out of the holes, and he fumbled so much with them that he simply couldn't get it off.

It ended with him ripping it off, instead. He couldn't do it, he simply couldn't do it. He threw it on the floor and crawled beneath his sheets after pulling his pants off. Underneath it, it was dark and cold and he finally felt that he could breathe again.

What had he done, what had he done, what had he done. The words flew around in his head like small annoying insects, and he wanted to go back and redo things. Why had he been so stupid and tried to…no. That wasn't the question. The question was, _Why on earth had he reacted like that when Potter had kissed him_?

What was wrong with him? Seriously, he wasn't attracted to Potter whatsoever, he wasn't even attracted to _guys_…

Or? Something suddenly nagged at the back of his brain. Hadn't he several times considered some of his teammates' arses as looking pretty nice?

Rabastan groaned and blushed at the mere thought of it. He was so stupid, not realizing this sooner. Well, okay, he was gay. That he could live with, he supposed. But it didn't answer the question as to why he had reacted so strongly to Potter's kisses. He had never before considered Potter as anything else but a stuck-up prat, a Gryffindor, silly and…

Yeah, whatever. He still wasn't attracted to him, or in love with him, or anything of the like. He wasn't.

Rabastan folded his arms, and turned so that he lay on his side, hugging himself. Now he was going to sleep and stop thinking, because it hurt his head. And tomorrow everything would be solved.

:::

Three guesses on who didn't sleep a moment that night, haunted by pictures of a certain black-haired Gryffindor?

That's right. Rabastan.

He breathed in through his nose as he dressed. Today was going to be a shitty day; he already knew it. And, indeed, now he got a pillow thrown in his face.

"What's your problem, Phil?" He snapped and walked towards the door.

"What's _your_ problem? I was just going to ask you if you were all right, as you're looking pretty devastated. _But never mind that_!" He shouted the last after him, as Rabastan already was out of the dormitory.

He walked quickly to the Great Hall—maybe some breakfast could get him in a better mood. And help him keep his eyes open.

But as he arrived at the entrance, hit by the lovely scent of food, he spotted a dark-haired head at the Gryffindor table turning around. The thought _It's funny we saw each other so quickly, as if we were somehow connected_ darted through his mind before he turned around and sprinted away.

He didn't know why he ran; he just wanted to get away from there.

When he arrived at the courtyard, he sat down on a bench and buried his head in his hands. The sky was grey, full of heavy clouds that were about to burst with raindrops.

He didn't know what to do; he had absolutely no idea. If this was going to continue, if he couldn't stop it all, he would…he would fucking explode.

Suddenly he could sense someone sitting down next to him, and he slowly spread his fingers so that he could peek out through them. It was Potter. Again.

"What's up?" Potter asked in a light tone, and Rabastan quickly gathered his fingers so that there was nothing but darkness in front of his eyes.

"What does it look like?" he answered quietly.

Potter apparently scooted closer to him on the bench, as the next thing he said was in a much lower voice but still perfectly hearable. "You know," he began, "I think we could make this work."

Now Rabastan sat straight up in one swift movement. Potter jolted a bit but looked straight at him. "What are you even…," Rabastan began.

"You liked what happened yesterday as much as I did. I…I like you, I really do. And I know that you're not like the other Slytherins—we can make this work, Rabastan." The last bit was said shakily, and then Potter put a hand on Rabastan's, which lay on the bench, gripping the edge tightly.

Rabastan flew up. "Don't—don't fucking touch me, Potter! You have no idea what you're talking about, you're—you're completely wrong!" Rabastan felt his breath coming out heavily, and it was so nice, lashing out at Potter, and he knew his cheeks were bound to be flaming red, he could feel them burning, but it didn't matter. It felt so good.

"…Rabastan?" Potter asked carefully, standing up as well.

"Don't call me that! Just leave me alone, for fuck's sake!" Rabastan glared at the taller wizard, and then he turned around quickly and walked back into the castle. Potter wasn't following him, he noted in the back of his brain as he felt the adrenaline pumping in his veins, almost victoriously. A grin had formed on his lips and he really felt as if nothing could defeat him.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, all lessons disappearing behind the picture of himself being strong and invincible. And the content feeling in his gut didn't fade the slightest, either.

Then the day was over, and the silence hit him as a brick wall. He lay in his bed, twisting more and more in his sheets, and he couldn't, couldn't, _couldn't_, fall asleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw Potter's eyes boring holes into his; whenever he put a pillow over his ears to stop the unbearable silence, he heard Potter saying "Rabastan."

He woke up the next morning, so early that the sun wasn't up, and found himself hugging the pillow and his cheeks stained with tears.

This wasn't okay. After being scared of his reflection in the bathroom and refreshing a bit, he walked out on the grounds. He hadn't really a goal, he just felt like being outside in the darkness that was about to turn into dawn, and breathe properly.

He took a seat in the Quidditch stands, not knowing how he had ended up there, but it didn't matter. He rested his head against the cold wood and closed his eyes.

A while later, what felt like no more than a few seconds, someone shook his shoulder. He opened his eyes and stared into a pair of brown, warm eyes. The person withdrew his hand as soon as he saw that Rabastan had woken and took a few steps back, as if the person was afraid of Rabastan.

"Eh…what?" Rabastan asked thickly, and he straightened up, ruffling his hair that had been completely messed up thanks to resting it against the boards.

"I just thought you should know that it's breakfast now," the person answered softly, and, shit, it was James. Hey, wait, _James_? No, _Potter_. Potter stood in front of him, with an apprehensive look in his eyes, wearing Quidditch robes and sweat drops glinting on his face.

How long had he slept? It had to be more than two hours, as that was how long the Gryffindors' training was, and the pitch now was completely abandoned.

Rabastan felt completely confused. He shook his head tiredly and suddenly realized he was freezing. Potter must've noticed it, too, as his eyes widened and he said, "How long have you been sitting here? Your fingers look as though they're going to fall off!"

"A couple of hours," Rabastan mumbled as he tried to rub his hands against his legs to get the blood circulation working again in them.

Potter suddenly pulled his gloves off and grabbed Rabastan's hands, kneeling in front of Rabastan. "Here, put these on," he said, and he shoved Rabastan's hands in them, stroking them slowly afterwards.

Rabastan looked up from his hands and saw how Potter's eyes were narrowed, how concerned he looked biting his lower lip. It was as if he really cared about Rabastan.

Then James lifted his gaze, and when their eyes met, Rabastan knew it didn't matter he had just called him "James" in his head instead of "Potter." Rabastan smiled carefully, and so did James, and then they both leaned forward, at the exact same moment, James bending his head upwards and Rabastan his downwards, and their lips met.

The heat that James radiated was practically so warm that it with every second they kept kissing embraced Rabastan, as well, and soon his teeth had stopped clattering, and the only reason he still was shivering was because of how it felt once again having James lips against his.

James was still kneeling on the ground, but he now rose slowly, not once letting Rabastan's lips slip away, and he sat himself on Rabastan's lap, one leg on each side of Rabastan's knees. Rabastan hardly noticed the weight that was on him, all he could think of was how much sense this made—in a non-making-sense-at-all type of way.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into James' ear, when James' mouth left his and began kissing his neck instead.

"About what?" James asked, lifting his head up and meeting Rabastan's gaze.

"You know, what I said to you."

"It's okay, I mean, it's not every day you realize you're in love with a Gryffindor, huh?" James answered with a grin, and he returned to kissing Rabastan, who felt his cheeks redden. There was something about the way James had said that, that Rabastan was in love with him, as if he knew it perfectly well. And he was. Rabastan was in love with James.

To put that feeling in words, even though it was just in his head, was indescribable. It filled Rabastan up and he wanted to scream and laugh and jump up and down, all at the same time.

"You said we're going to make it work—how?" he asked a while later, when they sat next to each other, probably just as disheveled and red-faced and goofily grinning, looking out at the pitch.

"I don't know," James answered with a shrug. "We just are, right?" he finished, and he smiled at Rabastan.

"Okay, we are." Rabastan nodded. "Now, breakfast?"

"Yes, thanks." James grinned and rose. They began walking down the stairs and on to the path that led back to the castle. "I'll shower later," James said, more to himself than to Rabastan.

Rabastan stayed suddenly, unnoticed by James, and turned around and looked at the stands. He shook his head, as if he couldn't believe it, and then hurried to catch up with James. When he had returned to his side, he slipped his hand into James', who, after the first little look of confusion, smiled so brightly at Rabastan that he thought he would burst.

They didn't let go of the other's hand until they arrived at the Entrance Hall, and when they did it then, it was with the unspoken promise that they soon would hold them again.


End file.
